‘I know but I do know that I can’t go back and change things for you, however much I want to,’ her mum said. ‘I’m trying to make it up to you, Carly. Make everything normal again. Please. Try and eat. You know you love my apple crumble.’

But Carly pushed her bowl away. Everything tasted of Spicy Tomato Snaps and blackcurrant liquorice sweets. She stalked across the kitchen. Her mum had fetched a glass as Carly lifted a bottle of cherry Coke from the fridge, watching as her daughter fizzed it open and tipped it down the sink, trying to understand, but not.

As much as her mother smothered her, her stepdad was the opposite. Out of the house at all hours. Tense and angry when he was home. Constantly calling the police station for an update. The phone clutched tightly in one hand, his other hand shaking a fist indicating what he would do to the surviving kidnapper if he ever got hold of him. He would jab off the TV if anyone put it on – the sisters were still featured on every channel. Their scared, pale faces stared out from newspapers. Hordes of cuddly toys were delivered, postmarks from all around the world. Brightly coloured cards depicting balloons, houses, champagne – with messages of welcome home; congratulations! Mum put them all in the bin. Once Carly had fished one out, which read, If you don’t accept Jesus into your lives your girls will be taken again. Her family weren’t religious but that night Carly had knelt at the side of her bed, hands clasped together and prayed.

The only people Carly could bear to spend time with were the twins. They became a unit of three, bound together by their trauma. It was Carly they turned to for bedtime stories, Carly they handed their hairbrush to each night. Her sisters were all she wanted. All she needed. Carly screamed at her mum so many times to leave her alone, little by little she began to comply. Mum retreated into herself. Her skin seemed to hang off her frame. Her eyes bloodshot, black bags hanging beneath them.

Why couldn’t the police find Moustache?

Carly shut everyone out. Ignoring the unread texts on her Nokia, even the one from Dean Malden. He didn’t seem important any more.

All the time, there was that awful knowing twisting in Carly’s gut. Moustache was still out there.

It all felt too much, but it turned out that was the lull in the storm.

It’s incomprehensible that being abducted wasn’t the worst part at all.

What came after they were rescued was far, far worse.

Chapter Forty-Two

Leah

Now

Archie screams again. My body responds before my mind properly processes what I am hearing. I am rocketing down the stairs, towards the noise, but his screams have now morphed into something else.

Laughter.

I fly into the kitchen, Archie is kneeling on the floor, giggling as a puppy licks his face.

‘No.’ I back away. Wondering if I’m still dreaming.